Dissonance
by Thirteen Tears
Summary: The golden mouse stared back through the mirror. Link touched a hand -a paw- to his face. He wasn't in Hyrule anymore; and Mossflower Country was soon to be in need of a hero.
1. Mice and Men

_**A/N: Welcome, everyone! As of May 12, 2016, this is completely rewritten. Old readers, new readers, all are welcome. For those of you that have already read this story, I ask you to take a fresh look at it: there have been a lot of stylistic changes, and I would greatly appreciate it if you all tell me what you think. Love it, hate it, I want to know! For those of you new to the story, this is going to be a fairly dark tale. Many of the characters within are in dark places in their lives, and much of the story arcs over their emotional and spiritual struggles just as much as their physical ones. Without further ado, I bid you read, enjoy, and REVIEW!**_

_**P.S. If anyone is interested in beta-ing this, that also would be greatly appreciated (though I'm not sure how it works, never done it)**_

* * *

_Chapter One: Of Mice and Men_

The sword across his back was heavier than all his years of turmoil. The Hylian shield- blazing, blistering to touch in the relentless sun- had ever been more cumbersome. Epona, the heavy draft, hung her head low beside him in misery. He had long since abandoned her heavy saddle to the shifting sands, and her sides were bare but for the whipped froth of sweat that matted her sorrel hide. The mare stumbled, her breath puffing emptily, legs unable to sustain her bulk and navigate the slippery terrain at once. The air before them was quivering with heat waves, the horizon shimmers of false hope- death masquerading as illusions of water.

Link took a knee, the hot sand burning through his thin cotton breeches. The mare trembled beside him as he retched and wheezed and sobbed dryly in his fatigue. Dry heaves wracked his body, but his stomach had long been empty and his mouth so dry that he couldn't conjure the slightest mouthful of saliva. The desert taunted him with its myriad of mirages. The very sands laughed and scorned him, _you'll never make it out of here._

The warrior stood, collapsed with tangled feet, and rose once more to lean on his beloved horse. He lifted his gaze, his eyes dried and itching from the dust, his vision blurred. He looked beyond the rolling wastes and through the trembling air and saw green. _Green,_ greener than the richest jade, _**green**_ with life untouched by drought or famine. Green. Trees, a forest-before he knew it he was running, rolling down the slopes, stumbling, tripping, _crawling_ with the red mare staggering alongside him.

They reached the treeline. Link laughed aloud, sobbed in relief, threw himself into the murmuring stream that's water tasted sweeter than any nectared wine. He drank so much that it all came back up, and soaked the last of the sands, and bent to drink more before crawling through the brook on trembling arms. He collapsed on the far side in lush grass, listening to the mare swish her tail and guzzle the water and splash like a young filly in the ripples. He cried, the first moisture to touch his eyes since he entered the wastes, and let the blackness overtake him.

Blades of grass tickled his nose. Link groaned breathlessly, sneezed, and his eyes cracked open. His limbs, weighed down with fatigue and dehydration, responded with nothing more than a twitch when he tried to rise. He _ached,_ a pain deeper in his bones than any old wound from any old time of his life. He strained his ears, but couldn't hear the sighing of the brook, nor the movements of his steed. His head throbbed. The trees around him shifted and swayed, their limbs creaking. A twig snapped. Another. Feet moving in the undergrowth, closer, ever closer, Link could feel their very heartbeats through his state of otherworldly awareness. He couldn't move.

"I'm tellin' ya, mate, he was right here!" cried a voice in the underbrush. Link tensed.

"Gonff, when am I going to stop believing your tall tales?" another, his tone bordering on irritation, "yowch! Watch those branches!"

The pair emerged from the undergrowth. Mice. Giant, man-sized mice. Giant, man-sized mice that _spoke, _and _walked,_ and shoved one another playfully about, and wore the clothing of men. Link's heart shuddered and grew still as their sharp eyes scanned. They fell upon him, gazing with human intensity for a moment before being spurred by whatever instincts that such creatures possessed. The shorter, tubbier creature reacted first, his green jerkin rustling and twin daggers banging against his hips as he sprinted to Link's side.

"I told you I found somebeast!" the mouse exclaimed, gathering him up in his paws.

Link choked on his swollen tongue, tossing his head as he struggled in the creature's grip.

"Settle down," commanded the other, a creature of noble bearing and the grace of a warrior, "we're here to help you."

Both knelt beside him, cradling him carefully and studying him.

"We need to get him back to the abbey," murmured the warrior, touching a paw to Link's forehead, "he's got a horrible fever."

Link tried to resist, tried to untangle his tongue to tell them to get their furry hands off of him and point him in the direction of his horse, so that he could be on, and forget that they ever existed like he had forgotten that _anything_ ever existed in his years. But the mice were strong, and already were bearing him swiftly into the deep woods.

"Do you have a name, mate?" asked the mouse who'd found him first.

Link slurred something incoherent, feeling the darkness overtaking him, and he furrowed his brow and tried again with a paltry, "_Ne-wa-eh…"_

"Ne-wa-eh?" the mouse repeated, in confusion.

"Wa-ter," his drink from the stream seemed a distant memory as his mind fogged.

The mice eased him down quickly. A flask was pressed to his lips, and he grunted and guzzled at the sweet water. After a cough, sputter, and whimper, he was lifted again.

"A beast dyin' of thirst," remarked the chubby rodent, "he was a stone's throw away from the River Moss!"

The warrior hummed in reply, shifting the weight of Link's legs in his arms. "Stone's throw away or not, we need to get him to the Abbess. He won't make it otherwise."

Link was lost to them already, lulled by the respite brought by unconsciousness, borne away in the arms of the overgrown rodents.


	2. Awakening

_**A/N: Welcome again, lovelies! Thanks to all readers, reviewers, followers, etc. Happy reading! (...and reviewing...)**_

_**P.S. I mentioned in the original that Link is currently about 25-27, Martin is about 35, and Gonff is about 32.**_

* * *

_Chapter Two: Awakening_

Link moaned, coming alive under the touch of a cool cloth to his forehead. His mouth was dry, his tongue thick and heavy, and every rasping breath he took tickled the roughness of his throat. The rag graced his head again, bringing respite from the pain the plagued him. The cloth moved gently over his face, his neck, bathing his burning skin. A distant voice hummed distantly over him, a warm hand enveloping his own as he grasped about. The muffled voice transformed into a merry giggle, and he sought it, squeezing the hand, struggling to open his eyes. One eye broke open, then another, the picture a blur of soft earthy colors lacking shape and form. As the fog left Link's mind, and his vision cleared, the young warrior bit back a scream.

"What's the matter?" asked the mouse lady, retreating as Link leapt from the bed.

Link stared wide-eyed at the female, her ears slanted in confusion and large brown eyes wide with alarm. It had been a dream, a dream, _all a corrupt dream_, he had told himself. He was wrong. The mouse was clad in a green dress, of a fashion not too far different than that of Hylian women, but his fevered mind didn't hold onto that detail. No, it was her fur, her twitching nose, the dainty claws that touched her lips in shock, the _tail_ that twitched beneath the dress that caught his attention.

"A mouse- a mouse… A talking mouse…" he stammered.

She narrowed her eyes at him, crossed her arms. "Of course I'm a mouse- and so are you! Why are you so startled?"

A mouse. _No, no, no,_ he shook his head and tumbled off the bed, onto the floor, and scrambled to a tall looking glass that hung on the wall. Link stood with the wall's support, staring at the alien reflection. The blue eyes he sought out first, his own blue eyes that he had seen and known for the twenty-seven stolen years of his life. Nothing more could he recognize, from the golden fur that spread across his body, to the tail that twitched instinctively in terror, to the muzzle and the whiskers and the ears that were all so very human despite themselves. He reached a hand- a paw, he corrected, to the reflection of his shell-like ears; and with the other he touched the real thing, claws ghosting over the dangling blue earring.

"You must be delusional," the maiden murmured behind him, taking a furry arm gently, "lie back down. You've been in and out of consciousness for several days now. Let me fetch the Abbess- she'll know what to do with you."

Link allowed her to guide him, stumbling, back to the cot, his eyes fearfully wide and limbs trembling. The strength of terror was fading away, leaving him feeling hollow and weak. The mouse woman pushed him down to sit and slid from the room, and he was alone with his shock.

"Where am I?" His voice was small in the empty room.

He wasn't alone long before the door swung open again, the mouse woman from before now accompanied by a frail and ancient creature. He repeated his question, gazing up at the strangers with hollow eyes.

"You're in Redwall Abbey," the younger beast replied with pride,"it was just completed last summer."

An Abbey. Since when were mice capable of worship? _Since when were mice capable of walking and talking? _His mind grumbled.

"What is your name, child?" Asked the old mouse, putting a gnarled paw to his head.

"Link," he shrank under the paw, away from the creature that caressed him.

"A strange name for a strange mouse," quipped the younger, smiling at him. "My name's Columbine, and this is Abbess Germaine."

Talking mouse maidens, and abbeys with mousy abbesses, _where was he?_ How had he come? _The desert, _he remembered it. He remembered wandering, searching vainly, searching, _searching for what? _The desert, with its shifting wastes and promises of death, and Epona struggling to climb the dunes, what had happened? The mice were speaking, but could not be heard above the roaring of indignant voices in his head that demanded to know _how _and _why _and _where. _The fear he had been living on settled into his heart, chilling him from within.

_Are we __**dead?**_

Reality collapsed around his tense shoulders. Link stared unseeing into the eyes of the abbess and was lost.

"I'm dead," he whispered. All motion around him ceased. The kindly creatures bade him quiet and accept their ministrations, but he grabbed their paws and held them at arm's length. "_I'm dead. _I died in the desert…"

His chest heaved, the mice about him begged him to lie, no, _to sit_, as he stood and took a trembling step.

"He's panicking!" He heard, but failed to understand, was pushed back onto the bed to thrash and scream in his distress.

"Hold him down!"

"_Get Martin!"_

A weight dropped off his chest. How long had they been atop him? Link shuddered and threw the second away, blinded by fear and rage and bleak despair. Visions of monsters, of demon kings, and his own bitter downfall replaced the homey infirmary he was surrounded by. The young warrior saw flames in the corners, a beast in place of the harmless little abbess. He advanced, uncertain and afraid, mind collapsing under his burden of stress.

The door flew open. His advance was halted by the mouse warrior from before. The stranger's mouth moved, but Link was deaf to his words and rushed on him. Stars exploded behind Link's eyes when the older fighter slammed a sword hilt down over his skull, and hit his knees when the pommel sharply jabbed his stomach. The warriormouse might well have been Death for all the stoic judgement he bore down on Link. He struggled on the floor, was lifted carefully into the cot, and finally succumbed to the savage pain in his head.

"Are you alright, Mother Abbess?" Martin asked, helping the elderly creature to her paws.

Germaine nodded, grinning weakly through her fear. "I'm fine, Martin, but our friend has had more than his share of trouble."

"Our _friend_ has almost overstayed his welcome," he would have continued but for the wrinkled paw that halted his thoughts.

"He was only frightened," Germaine mopped the sweating youth's brow, and bent to pick up a flask that had fallen to the ground during his panic attack. "He isn't the only one who reacts negatively to terror , you know."

Martin nodded, sheathed the sword he still held with a white knuckled grip, and watched his abbess trickle a pungent liquid from the flask and into the sick beast's slack jaws.

"I don't know what was wrong with him," Martin looked toward the doorway, where a worried a Columbine was wringing her paws. "He was fine when he woke- a little nervous, but fine. Then he starts muttering about talking mice and loses it!"

She took a few hesitant steps into the room, eased up to the bedside. "His name is Link."

"What else did he say?" Martin asked, observing the sleeping lad.

Columbine had summoned the courage to approach the mouse directly, and touched a tender paw to his still arm. "He murmured something about a desert…. Dying in a desert."

Martin frowned. He and Gonff had discovered the stranger on the River Moss, north of the abbey in Mossflower Woods. The desert stretched along the southwestern beach, leagues from the abbey; and the River Moss ran directly from the coast inland, a traveler's natural guide to the forest. Martin remembered the creature's swollen tongue, his pleas for water. The warriormouse gazed at the sick stranger with new intensity. He was several seasons Martin's junior, as many as ten or as few as five, and his gold-hued fur was marred with scars to rival the Champion's own. The fur about his neck and ears had been gritty- supposedly with sand from the banks of the river. Martin hadn't peered too close at Link's clothing, and with them washed and dried in the days since his arrival, it was too late to investigate.

"Martin?"

His eyes were drawn to Link's left paw.

"Martin, are you listening?"

Martin backed off a pace and palmed the hilt of his sword. Link's paw was _glowing_. Before the warrior could call attention to the supernatural occurrence, the golden glow faded, leaving behind a triangular glyph.

"Oh my, what a strange tattoo," remarked Columbine, following her friend's gaze. "Is there one on the other paw?"

The trio conducted a hasty search of the golden mouse, finding nothing more than grisly scars that impeded the growth of his fur. Germaine had been quiet since the violent incident, her eyes narrowed in thought. She pulled a blanket from Link's waist up under his chin, sparing him the indecency of waking up uncovered in little more than a night gown.

"Columbine, I would like you to recruit a few maids the help you care for this Link. Martin, show me everything that you and Gonff found on his person. I want to know the whole story. There's a mystery here, and you young creatures are going to help me solve it."

* * *

Germaine, Gonff, and Martin had retreated to the sanctity of the gatehouse, seated about a heavy oaken table strewn with Link's belongings, and the leftovers of a hasty snack. Martin slid the tray of oat scones away, clearing a place for the great blade that the foreign mouse had possessed. Its sheathe, an intricate object of black leather and burnished steel supports was removed carefully. The mice at the table marveled at the beauty of the blade, from the deep blue stone of its hilt to the deadly tip of the long, patterned steel.

"I've never seen such a metal," Martin murmured, tracing the intricate swirling patterns of dark and light that caressed the steel. He ran a callused thumb across the edge, and shivered at its keenness.

"And the glyph," Germaine was drawn to it, staring intently at the four triangles embossed in gold on the blue cross-piece.

Gonff lifted the weapon, grumbling about its weight and slid Link's shield into its place on the table.

"Do you know anything about the symbol, Abbess?" the rogue asked, tracing it where it appeared for a third time on the crest of the shield.

The old mouse ran a clawtip down the shield's surface; the metal had been scoured by desert sands, scratched and dented and beaten, but still the delicate painting was mostly unharmed, adding depth to the embossment. The same symbol, supported by a crimson eagle in a field of blue.

"There have been rumors, for several seasons now…." the males recognized the glint in her old eyes and waited patiently through her thoughtful pause. "But until we have more evidence, it would do little for us to gossip in here like frilly little maidens."

The males chuckled at her wit, but remained uneasy.

"The crest of his homeland, no doubt," Germaine still had a paw on the shield. "Was there anything else?"

Gonff shrugged, " there was little in his belt pouches of interest- a dagger, some foreign coins," he was digging through the pockets of his own belt, and produced a dainty blue object. "And this; a pretty ocarina. In much better shape than anything else of his."

Again, the glyph, engraved into the mouthpiece of the delicate instrument.

"I'm sensing a pattern here," Martin remarked dryly. "You think our friend has woken yet?"

"It would be a good time to ask some questions," stated the abbess, rising with creaking bones from her chair. "If my suspicions are correct, he will have much to tell us; allow me to find the document…"

The rest of her ramblings were to herself as she paced away, leaving the males to look at one another in confusion. They shrugged, knowing that whatever the wise old abbess might find would be beneficial to them, and set off themselves for the infirmary.


	3. Only Link to Home

**_Chapter Three: Only Link to Home_**

"_Sir Link, Hero of Time and Personal Guard to Queen Zelda," the deep, powerful voice boomed across the court where one hundred dignitaries sat in silent anticipation. Link did not falter, but gazed boldly up at the King, his knees pressed into a deep purple cushion. The Queen, pale and fragile, looked on distraught at the court's proceedings. "You are hereby banished from the Kingdom of Hyrule forevermore."_

_The sentence dropped like lead on the Hero's chest. He bore it with dignity, staring with eyes of flame while his heart shattered under the gravity of the man's words. Zelda choked on a sob when he dropped his gaze, felt her eyes on him, pleading, __**begging.**_

_He had never bowed before._

"_Stand," the King demanded. Link kept his head bowed, gritting his teeth to stop his lips' trembling, and stood on weak knees._

"_Now turn and face the court."_

_His beastly gaze swept the court, searching, praying for something in the sea of faces. Some measure of ill will borne against him. Some opposition to the Crown. But there was nothing, nothing but the King's hatred, the Queen's grief, and his own sick despair._

"_This man's head should be cleaved from his treasonous shoulders!" The King's voice shook with rage, rebounding off every fixture, every soul in the room and coming back to the convicted man as echoes of hate. There was not a murmur in the court; there was not a rustle as Link cast his gaze about; there was not a sniff as the King continued his sentence. "But because of your Queen's generosity, his life will be spared. He will be escorted out of Hyrule in shackles, and at our border will be released. Death will reward return. Let any who challenge my ruling stand and face me!"_

_There was not a sigh among the crowd. Link allowed the guards to escort him away, feeling the neutral gaze of the court and the burning stare of the monarchy piercing his back. His chains clanked with his heart's despair from the bleak courtroom all the way down to the dank and dismal dungeons. _

Link frowned, eyes sliding open. A deep breath brought the scent of herbs and clean linens, the spicy aroma of roses. The events leading to his uneasy slumber came slowly back to him, but failed to stir his heart as they had before. His paw stung, and it was with indifference that he recognized the holy triforce burned in the short fur; hardly had he expected the mark- the symbol that was both a blessing and a curse and had been with him since that fateful, unforgotten day in his tenth year of life- to leave him now in this strange turn of events. Did the others see it? Would they know what it meant to him? To his world?

The door opened slowly, the warrior from before entering unannounced. They regarded one another with calm solemnity. Blue eyes met blue, sharing a warrior's silence, hiding separate histories of love and loss, sacrifice and glory.

"My name is Link," he was the first to break the wary silence. _Late of Hyrule, _his mind continued dismally.

"Martin the Warrior," he clasped the offered paw with measured strength. "Columbine mentioned you were quite upset earlier."

_Before I attacked them, _it didn't take a genius to know what 'earlier' meant. Link could hear the accusation, and his ears fell back unbidden in his regret.

"I apologize. It was shock…" Link struggled to find an appropriate excuse. "I saw… some things from another life, some things that had no business being here. It wasn't my intention to hurt them."

Martin held the unwavering stare for a long moment, reading the truth in the somber line's of the younger creature's face. Link's gaze was lost, looking back into a past too dark for Martin to see. The abbey warrior knew his own eyes had once held the same despair.

"Did I hurt them?"

"No," Martin smiled softly. "Oho, no. You'd be surprised at the amount of fight that pair has in them. They were scared, yes, but unharmed."

Link allowed a small smile of his own, thankful. The elder warrior cast a glance out the infirmary window to find the sun at its zenith.

"If you're feeling well enough to eat, they'll be serving lunch on the abbey grounds soon. It'll be a good chance to stretch your legs and breathe some fresh air," Martin offered, in an attempt to ease the tension that had befallen them.

Link nodded, tossed the blankets that covered him aside to find himself still clothed in nothing but the thin nightgown. The mention of food brought back the sensation of starvation, and his stomach roiled with something he couldn't quite identify as hunger or sickness.

"My friend Gonff should be bringing your clothes soon, after he checks on Columbine," Link was helped to his feet, given some space.

The mouse's paw had felt alien in his own. His entire body felt alien. The Hero of Time found himself swaying, taking a few uneasy steps, and hoping his host chalked his clumsiness up to weakness and not entertaining the notion that Link was originally another species altogether. Link responded with a distracted thanks as he found his footing. _Like walking on your toes,_ he thought, feeling a tail swishing instinctively behind his back. The appendage would be the biggest challenge of his new body.

"Your weapons are safe in the gatehouse," Martin watched Link's struggle, "_where they will stay."_

Link sensed a veiled hostility, a warning, gave his counterpart a sharp look that was returned in full force.

"We're a place of peace, and intend to remain that way."

Link nodded, turned his attention back to the foreign footpaws.

There was a brief knock before the door swung open. Link recognized the mouse, vaguely, as the one that claimed to have found him days before, loaded down with a pile of familiar green clothes.

"Hoy mate!" Gonff greeted amicably, grinning toothily at the foreigner, though his eyes shone with mistrust. The look vanished almost immediately, hidden again by the creature's merry attitude as he held the bundle out to its owner. "Figured you'd need these before venturing out into the public! The name's Gonff," he winked cheekily, settling back and crossing his arms and looking for all the world like a swashbuckling rogue, "the Prince of Mousethieves."

Martin clapped his friend on the shoulder and lifted him from his comical bow, tossing a grin back at Link from the doorway.

"His Royal Highness and I will give you time to dress, then we'll show you to the food."

The door closed. Link was left alone, cradling his clothes and staring at the portal. The arrival of the mousethief had changed the atmosphere completely. It gave Link pause from his hurt, made him look down at the treasured garments in his arms in thought, and struggle into them with new purpose. Though deep resentment beckoned him from the corner cot, and his unfulfilled, uneasy dreams within, bright smiles awaited him in this abbey. He was a warrior. He would overcome.

Martin and Gonff awaited him behind the closed door, conversing quietly in the hall. When he emerged, the pair led him easily through the corridors, watching him tug the trademark hat over his head.

"Does everybeast dress like that where you're from?" Questioned the mousethief.

Link smiled with a nod, "yes actually, the Kokiri-"

He faltered. _The Kokiri. Saria. My ocarina. _He searched the pockets of his tunic, the pouches of his belt with a clumsy, frantic paw.

"What's the matter, mate?"

"What's going on?"

"_Where is my ocarina?" _Link's wide eyes were pleading.

His hosts were taken aback by the outburst, reaching out to calm him. Link batted their paws away, glaring now.

"_Tell me_ that you have my ocarina!"

The sacred instrument was his only tie to Hyrule; his only tie to the beautiful queen who so destroyed his soul and left him bitter with lost love and betrayal.

"Calm down, mate," Gonff appeased. He produced the blue flute from a pocket on his own belt and held it forth. "I was keepin' it safe for ya."

Link snatched the treasure back from the thief, breathed a deep and mournful sigh, and sagged. Martin and Gonff waited uneasily for a suitable explanation.

"It's all I have left…" His eyes were filled with homesickness, lowered with shame at his overreaction.

The abbey dwellers nodded in understanding, sharing a concerned look as they started off down the hall again with the lost soul in their wake. He would need to be watched, was unstable… His eyes shifted and raged like those of a beast behind his expression of hurt.

Link blinked in awe as the party stepped out into the summer noon. Mice and squirrels, hedgehogs and otters, and homey little moles were playing and eating on the Abbey green, under a young orchard, and on the banks of a small pond. The Abbey itself rose magnificently nearby, of the same towering red sandstone that made the walls and outbuildings. Link stumbled after the pair as they led him to the feast.

Abbeybabes, or Dibbuns as he was informed they were called, flocked curiously about him. They ran and laughed, dragged the fearsome Martin into their games, tackled the mousethief with demands of candies and of tales of adventure. Link was left to wander the green alone, trod slowly up to the tables where he was beset by a large otter.

"Hullo there, liddle mate," the creature's voice was a deep baritone, touched by an accent eerily similar to Gonff's. Link took the otter's outstretched paw in his own. "'S good to see you on your footpaws. Call me Skipper."

"Link," was the reply, and the marine creature's giant paw released him.

"I hope you're ready for a feast, Link," Skipper grinned, clapping him on the shoulder, "you're about to taste the best vittles in all of Mossflower country!"

The tattooed paw guided him to the tables set out under the trees, a sight more beautiful than the lost Hero had seen in many a year. The tables were loaded to outdo the Royal tables of Hyrule, loaded with salads and cheeses, soups and cakes, and everywhere a happy laughing beast to enjoy them. Link grew weak, marvelling at the huge rounds of cheeses studded with nuts and celery, the great bowls of vegetable soups and stews- large enough for a mouse to nearly swim in, and the long table of desserts that threatened to droop under the weight of a dozen cakes, a score of fruit tarts and batch after batch of hot oat scones that dripped honey. Link sat under an apple tree, woefully sick with hunger and surrounded on all fronts by samples of the woodland creatures' masterful cooking. He struggled not to overeat, fought to take small, slow bites and modest swigs of the ale he had been gifted.

"Now, that's no way for a young warrior to eat," chided a frail voice above him.

Link choked on a mouthful of bread and cheese that proved too large to swallow, and smiled sheepishly as the abbess approached. She sat before him, bones creaking in protest, a cup of cool mint tea in her paws. Her aged face showed nothing of fear or anger, only a measured hospitality.

"I'm sorry, Abbess," Link lowered his head.

The kindly creature chuckled, shaking the apology away. "Don't apologize for something that you cannot help, Link."

"I meant-" to clear his name. To right the wrong he'd committed against her, and against the sanctity of her abbey.

"I know what you meant." The old abbess's eyes were gleaming, piercing him over the rims of dainty crystal spectacles.

She touched his arm softly in reassurance, settled back in her robes, and was joined before long by Martin on one side and Gonff's family on the other. The mousethief had a young mouselet perched upon his shoulders, the little rogue chunnering on about pinching pies and stealing whiskers as his pretty mother scolded him for his rudeness.

"Why don't you tell us more about yourself, Link?" prompted Gonff. "We haven't had a stranger at the abbey in ages!"

"Oh, we'd love to hear a story, Link!" Smiled Columbine, sitting close to her thief's side.

The other mice present seconded their notions, and Link was beset with the expectant stares of the five creatures. Link took a long pull of ale. What could he tell them? Was theirs as magical a world as his? Were there demons and fairies, dragons and warlords and never-aging children?

"I'm from a land that's far away," Link began, measuring the gazes carefully, "called Hyrule."

They were listening quietly, holding their breaths in anticipation of a tale they could sense would be full of curious twists and dangerous turns, and everything of adventure that any abbey-dweller ate up like candied chestnuts.

"When I was ten, I was sent on a journey to save Hyrule from an evil sorcerer."

The words came out in a wave, as though the speed of their deliverance had an effect on their sincerity. There were a few uneasy blinks, a shifting that told him that they were well attuned now as he spun them the tale they so desired. He spoke of evil foreign kings and beautiful maidens, fiery monsters and demons of the deep sea, of the triforce of his Golden Goddesses, and his role in the salvation of the kingdom. His audience, growing in number by the moment looked on in wonder, listening with bated breath as they traveled with him through temples and dungeons, fought with him with the legendary master sword. If they were _conveniently_ ignorant of his magic ocarina and time travel, who was to know?

The quiet awe was a tangible thing as he wound down his tale and wet his parched lips with another gulp of October Ale; _good stuff,_ he thought, as his tankard was refilled for the umpteenth time and his mind was slightly fuzzy.

"What happened then?" Martin was the first to break the silence. "After you defeated this…. Ganondorf?"

The creatures watched a dark shadow cross the young hero's face, grew uneasy as his steely eyes lowered to his lap.

"Everything fell apart."

They weren't about to be privy with the rest of his tale. Sharp pangs of emotion curled in his gut, making him regret the banquet he had previously enjoyed.

"Well," not about to let the cheery afternoon go to ruin, Gonff stepped up, "why not play us a song on that ocarina you're so fond of?"

Link initially rejected the idea, but not a moment had passed before his head snapped up and he'd retrieved the instrument with a new light in his eyes. _I can play Saria's song…_ the young sage would know where he was! She'd know how to send him home! The realization that 'home' was now as inaccessible as the banquet table of his goddesses sent a coil of regret through his heart, but still the mouse lifted the ocarina to his lips.

Little ones danced to the song of the forest, laughing with the airy jollity of his Kokiri friends as they reeled about the grounds. Link himself swayed, a deep calm overcoming him as he played. At the end he paused, expectant, heart jumping…. The ocarina was silent. The woodlanders clapped and cheered, but the ocarina was _silent_ in the pleasant afternoon. There was no familiar, chiming giggle of the pretty young Forest Sage. The creatures laughed for an encore, didn't notice the fearful wide eyes of their guest.

Link played the Sun's Song.

The light smattering of clouds didn't dissipate, but _drifted over_ the sun as though mocking the young hero. He played the Song of Storms. His fingers began to shake. He played the Serenade of Water and Bolero of Fire. By now he was breathing heavily, his audience delighted, himself inwardly collapsing in horror- _they didn't even know_ how he was wilting inside and assumed he was just out of breath from the songs….. But the ocarina was dreadfully silent in his trembling paws.

Martin alone saw his fear, and rose, clapping, to distract his companions from the younger warrior's anxiety. Martin challenged Gonff to match the hero's skill on his own reed flute, laughed along with the others as the mousethief leapt to his paws and danced a merry jig, effectively drawing the crowd's attention from Link. Martin moved to the young hero's side, pulled him to the fringes of the crowd. Link stumbled numbly, staring up at Martin through unseeing eyes. He was numb. The ocarina would offer no comfort in this strange world far from his own. The ocarina was no more magic than the reed flute that trilled happily in the back of his mind. His only tie to Hyrule was dead, and so was he.


	4. Dark Master

_Chapter Four: Dark Master_

"M-master Link?"

Amber eyes flicked open, boring into the source of the whimper in a studied silence. The bowing ferret lifted his head uneasily at the noncommittal grunt he received in answer, and immediately dropped again when he fell victim to his master's stare. He took a shaky breath, closing his runny eyes in prayer to whatever deity would bend an ear.

"The- the villagers… They didn't…. Didn't wanna… _Couldn't-"_

"Spit it out, ferret, before I rip it from your worthless throat," the silken voice bore little emotion but casual disdain, but the burning eyes that accompanied them sent chills down the unfortunate Captain's spine.

"They didn't give up their stores… Said-said that they didn't have any arms, and if they did they wouldn't give them up to the likes of us!" The ferret lowered himself so that he was flush against the carpeted floor of the warlord's tent, clenching his eyes shut against his inevitable demise for his failure.

The mouse blinked slowly, sneered at the exposed neck, and stood in a swirl of black. He felt the timid gaze that was cast sideways from the floor as he paced, observed his black claws with sharp scrutiny while he appeared to consider the ferret's words. How the scrawny creature- not but a sack of bones in his loose fitting armor- had ever become a captain was beyond belief. His squad had been armed to the teeth- the scum of the country loaded with pikes and daggers and nasty swords, and they failed to take a mouthful of food from a _peaceful_ little woodland community. Despite his nerves, the prone ferret grew impatient. Link waited for the creature's gaze to rise again before he squatted before it.

"Please, Master Link!" the ferret implored, rising to his knees, "it was a mistake! I hadn't meant to fail…"

Link smiled at the simpering cry- not a smirk or a snarl, but a smooth, languid smile that spread from cheek to cheek and creased his eyes. His amber gaze was soft, he reached a comforting paw out to the scout, and his smile deepened when he felt the resulting shiver.

"What is your name, ferret?"

It muttered something incoherent.

"Look me in the eyes when you're speaking to me," snarled the mouse, digging his claws in the skinny shoulder.

"O-Offa, Milord!" a tear dripped from the mustelid's muzzle.

Link held the watery stare, watching the liquid pupils dilate and contract in the animal's fear. He allowed the smile to again invade his face, loosened his claws, patted the tender spot softly.

"Everyone makes mistakes," the warlord soothed, measuring the effect of his words in Offa's eyes. The ferret wanted to relax, to breathe a sigh of relief at his master's good humor, and did to an extent. The ferret even dared to _return_ the smile with an uneasy one of his own. The smile fell.

"But no one makes them _in my name!_" Link roared, face contorting in wrath and dagger in paw.

The stricken ferret sank, his throat torn open, gurgled his last on the ruined rugs while his master ran his tongue along the blade with casual indifference.

"Sergi!" A weasel popped his head into the tent, paled at the bleeding corpse on the rugs, and stepped tentatively into the mouse's presence. The black mouse snarled at him, fiery eyes narrow and voice crisp, "find some creatures capable of raiding that damned village and clean up that miserable carcass! I want those bloodstains out of my carpet."

The weasel ducked out of his presence with many a 'yes sire, right away sire,' and fled to do his lord's bidding lest he meet a similar fate.

Night was long in coming. The camp was drowning in tension, fearful of their own shadows as long as their leader paced his soiled carpets. His tent was lost in shadows, a cold place on the edge of the wood where few dared to venture and fewer escaped alive. Lost in shadows… Link himself was lost in shadows; they sensed a darker entity, a deeper evil than had ever been amongst them, but one they could not turn away from. When the sun finally sank, night came as a relief to most. A rare relief.

Link chose seven of his best, wearing the night as a lady would a ball gown. His eyes gleamed, the darkness dancing around his form, as he glided before the chosen. They knew their orders, looked at him in silence and a certain fearful awe. The largest stepped forward, a battle-hardened fox that few spoke to, and the company was naught but a wisp in the dark, creaking forest. The fox led them through blind trails, over rocks and under branches, pale and fluid in the scarce moonlight; closer they came, and closer, to the hidden valley of Noonvale.

The valley stretched beneath them, a rolling basin spotted with homey cottages outlined softly in the weak light, faint blue smoke rising from each chimney. The land below was untouched by violence, void of any ill will, its inhabitants easy going, hard working creatures of peace. Link shivered, keen eyes scrutinizing the virgin vale, a twist of sweet cruelty in his chest.

"Kadik," he whispered low to his fox, voice rough with anticipation, "are you ready for blood?"

The fox grunted, curling his lip in a sinister smile, raising a paw to halt the six followers as they crested the hill. Like wreaths of smoke the eight villains threaded their way down the valley, each silent and grim as death. They paused at the base of the hill, in the shadows of a meeting house, lingering just out of the light of two lanterns that hung on the wall. Link stepped into their light, tapping the glass with a claw, and snatched them from their hooks. He held them in a single paw, high over his head, smirking at his entourage. They shivered, unable to look away from the black mouse that seemed unaffected by the light- it glittered and snaked along the grass and the building and marked their own features with sharp highlights and deep shadow- but Link remained a silken black form, with only his gleaming amber eyes and shining teeth touched by the lanterns' glow.

"These lanterns," he murmured coolly, "beacons for weary travelers…. How must we repay their kindness?"

He sneered, lifting the glow close to his face where finally his features could be discerned. He sauntered nonchalantly, lanterns swinging and casting eerie shadows over the sleeping village, and threw one harshly against the first home he came to. The glass shattered, oil and flame spilling into the grass and creeping up the wooden frame of the cottage. Link held the other, swinging in his off paw, his party gathering behind him as the flames climbed higher on the house. Before long, a family of dormice tumbled out, coughing and crying as their home was devoured.

Their cries woke the others. They were scared, beasts made slow witted by seasons of peace, and murmured amongst themselves fearfully while a fire crew was organised.

"There! By Council Lodge!"

The raiding party stood tall, holding nasty rapiers and spears, Kadik the fox wielding a fearsome axe in a strong paw. The villagers, frightened and angry, approached with wary indignation.

"Ah, little creatures," the evil mouse called, raising his voice to be heard over the rabble. A slow smile glinted in the blaze. "Such a pity! I'm sure that house was very dear to you."

"How could you do such a thing? It took us a season to build that cottage! The little ones are choking on the smoke!" One voice melded with another as the crowd took up the cries, demanding explanations. Link settled himself, leaning back almost casually with his arms crossed over his midnight tunic.

"Enough! " A tall mouse threaded his way through the crowd. The chieftain. "Please, leave us. We-"

"Are a peaceful sort," sneered the warlord, adopting a mask of pity that could scarcely be seen in the flickering light. "I heard all about it from my scout. Lovely fellow he was, a skinny little ferret with only half a brain- I'm sure you remember him."

Link took bold steps toward the chieftain, eyes aglint and paw resting on the heavy blade slung about his waist. The mouse refused to falter, glaring levelly at the intruder with his arms crossed in defiance.

"My ferret came here under orders to give a message, and I see that he has failed," Link made sure he was heard by every shuffling woodlander. "When he arrived in my camp this afternoon with news that he, a beast armed to the fangs and backed by twenty strong beasts, had left empty-pawed form a raid on a _peace loving_ village of woodlanders, I ripped his useless throat out and let him gurgle on the floor of my tent."

There were moans of despair, pale faces and uneasy shufflings, everybeast looking to their leader for support. He did not fail them.

"I am Urran Voh," his voice was a deep baritone that carried well in the crackling night. "Chieftain of this village of Noonvale. We are a peaceful community, and we will not aid a horde of vermin scum."

The already small space was closed between the chieftains by the ebony mouse, who bore down on the elder. "I haven't come for your _aid_. I have come for what that wretched fool failed to acquire. I want rations, mouse. I want food. I want arms. _And you'll give them to me __**now**__.. _"

Urran Voh was not moved by Link's demands. "We are good and peaceful beasts, and we will not supply your horde. Leave now, and let us continue in peace."

"Baroq. Take your pick."

A burly rat wielding a scimitar darted into the crowd, snatched a young mouse mother by the ears and drew the blade in a shallow wound across her collarbone, hauling her back to his leader in a screaming heap and snarling savagely at her friends that rushed to save her.

"I have seven beasts here!" Link drew his black blade and called over the crying mob. "For every ten minutes my demands are not fulfilled, an innocent creature dies!"

"Mama!"

The seven fighters had disappeared, reemerging within the crowd's masses and taking hostages with cool professionalism. Another rat held an otter pup by the tail, warding its grasping parents away with a spear.

"The time starts now!"

The crowd dissolved, some crying for mercy, others lunging at the vermin to be batted away like flies. Most, desperate for peace, fled to their homes to fulfill the dark mouse's wishes. Urran Voh remained, fear for his village shining in his eyes though his voice was strong as ever.

"What times are these?" He asked beseechingly, "that mice lead vermin in murderous campaigns? Will a wildcat save our lives?"

Link drew the blade lightly across his counterpart's throat, clipping the hairs of his beard neatly, his voice smoother than silk and deep as dark waters as he replied. "One cannot save that which does not exist. If your tribe doesn't stir themselves, that poor little mousey girl gets her throat torn open just the same as my ferret captain." As an afterthought, he added, "and her death may come prematurely if a certain old fogey standing before me doesn't hurry to his little home."

Urran looked at the bleeding mousemother, clutching a wailing babe to her breast as the front of her shawl darkened in the low light. He hesitated, turned slowly, clenched his paws and paused as though he would turn to fight. But his paws relaxed, and he hurried stiff-legged to a larger house near the lodge, joined part way by a stricken mousewife.

The victorious tyrant turned on his heel, stalking to the mother and gazing down with his burning lusty eyes. Chaos surrounded him, woodlanders scurrying about the vale in panic and the dormouse family still struggling to save their home. A low chuckle rose in Link's throat, and he caressed the mother's face with a cruel smile. The waning moon and cool night breeze and the darkness itself gave him strength, and the chuckle rose to a laugh that froze the blood of woodlander and vermin alike.

"I haven't felt this powerful since…." but the smile fell and his amber eyes widened in angry realization, and the gentle paw that had made the mother mouse's skin crawl just a moment before returned in a harsh slap that made her ears ring.

_No._ There was no 'since.' There was no 'before.' There was only now, only this moment and the dark power he was filled with. He stood briskly, demanded a slighter rat chain the female as a prisoner. The first rescue attempt had begun, and once more Link's fearsome black blade flashed in the moonlight, cut down and was baptized in the blood of a hedgehog that dared to be brave. The warlord found the forgotten lantern that remained and smashed it against the animal's prone body as he reeled from the attack.

Again there was chaos. There were screams, there was the reek of burning fur and flesh before the hedgehog was saved, though their attempt at salvation had crumbled to pieces. The smells of smoke and blood were thick in the air, food, supplies, and worthless trinkets and heirlooms were piled at Link's footpaws. Not fifteen minutes after the dark mouse's decree the eight bloody bandits were gone in the night.. _Fifteen minutes_, and the villains left the burning, broken village behind.


	5. Refugee

_Chapter Five: Refugee_

The gatehouse cottage was calm, surprisingly cool. Link stumbled in, standing almost aloof in the center of the room. It was tidy, if not homey, with little personal effects to be seen but piles of books in their cases and empty shelves around the kitchen area. The troubled mouse picked a few items to lock onto, trying in vain to solidify himself in the waking world lest he be taken by the panic that rose steadily in his heart. Martin shut the door behind him, expression cold and carefully blank as he crossed his arms and barred the entrance.

"There's more to you than you've let on." It wasn't a question, the warrior's tone deadly calm and edged with authority. "You're afraid. I want to know what you're afraid of _now._"

Link narrowed his eyes, pinned his ears back- somewhere in the back of his mind he realized he had _learned_ the move and had done it intentionally. Link: 1, New Body:... That part of his mind was squashed.

"If you've brought a threat to this abbey, Link of Hyrule, don't think for a moment that you won't regret it," Martin's eyes were stormy, his face contorted into a dangerous glare as his warrior blood sang to life.

Link met his stare with one of equal measure, torn with self-loathing and homesickness and ready to spit a sharp reply, but sighed, deflated, and turned away again. "There is no danger to your abbey, Martin."

But the warrior's blood had risen and his old temper wouldn't be squashed so easily. He advanced on the golden mouse, bristling and stood before him so they would see eye to eye.

"What are you hiding from us, Link?"

Flashes of Link's old life danced before him. His eyes burned. There was the King and all his hatred, and there the Hyrulian Knights who once so honored him escorting him at swordpoint to be banished from his home. And the Queen… The beautiful Zelda, weak and gaunt and pale in her royal gowns, and her voice silent against the accusations…. _Her silence,_ sharp pangs clawed at his heart and the tears brimmed in his eyes but he could not let them fall. His eyes, far richer than any sapphire bore into the abbey warrior's, brimming with the turmoil of ages.

"Do I not have the right to keep my own grief to myself?" Link demanded of the warrior. "Do you mean to tell me that you, Martin, don't have secrets of your own? _I can see them in your eyes!_"

Martin's blood was cooled, his own heart tightening and the emotion falling from his face as wall after wall was put up.

"Warriors share a common soul."

They could see everything burning in the other's eyes, all the heartache and the loss and the deep, insatiable bloodlust that glimmered just below the surface. They fell away from each other, no longer bristling, both filled with a deep sickness and anxious need.

"I'm sorry," Martin ventured. He lowered his eyes. "I understand." The fire came back for one last jab at the younger fighter though, "but if _my abbey_ is put into danger, you'll have _**me**_ to contend with."

Link allowed a grim smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The tension eased, both heroes smiled and chuckled as it did. "Let's go for a run," suggested the elder with a lopsided grin. "It'll loosen the nerves."

The warrior disappeared momentarily up a flight of stairs, returning quickly with his sword belted across his waist and holding Link's own sword belt and shield out to him. The misplaced mouse grabbed the items covetously and relished the familiar feel of their weight pulling across his shoulders and hips. They slipped quietly out of the gatehouse, unseen as most of the abbey dwellers were still fixed on the mousethief's talents, if not displaying some of their own, and snuck quietly around to the northern gate.

The warriors threaded silently through the forest, and despite the relative cool under the shade were sweating not long into the run. Neither spoke, saving their lungs and turning inward to mull over their own separate histories. Their eyes grew dark, their breaths shallow, but their feet flew faster. Link pulled ahead, the breeze at their backs seeming to enliven him. He flew with a speed and grace unmatched by any he had felt before. Martin slowed, allowing Link to race ahead, and kept a steady pace behind him.

"_I can see it in your eyes!"_

Was it really so easy? Was the Champion so easy to read that this stranger from another land could see the secrets he had spent his entire life concealing? The warrior felt a deep ache in his chest, and pushed his padded footpaws harder and faster. He panted hoarsely, hearing in the corridors of memory a tender voice that was lost to the mists of time. His blood burned, he demanded a greater speed than his body would allow, and slid through the loam as Link ground to a stumbling halt before him.

Martin opened his mouth, a question at his lips, but the thought died as he followed the Hylian's fixed gaze.

He rushed forward, caught the ragged creature as its legs gave out, lowered it gently to the ground and cradled its head on his knees. Through the charred and blackened fur, the creature could have been anything from a rat to a small squirrel, but on close inspection was just barely recognizable as a mouse. The creature's body was battered and burned, his breathing labored and eyes half closed.

"M-Martin….?" The eyes came alive, the mouse surging forward, grasping with a clumsy paw at Martin's face.

Something long repressed in the warrior's mind screamed for release as he locked on the stranger's incredulous gaze. Faded memories of a chiming giggle and the smell of new roses assaulted him at such speed and force that he couldn't make heads or tails of them. Those hazel eyes… so clear and burning in that unreachable memory… Those hazel eyes that haunted his dreams of a night…

"Martin, Son of Luke!" The hoarse voice pulled him out of his reverie. The mouse in his arms struggled to right itself, grasping, touching his face and his paws and his shoulders. "Oh, thank the seasons I've found you!"

Martin removed the paws entwining his neck, leaned back out of reach with a wary stare, "how do you know me?" His voice wavered on the edge of unease.

The hope that burned in the hazel eyes dropped. The eyes widened, the mouse shook his blackened head. "What do you mean, Martin?" Now the stranger's own voice was trembling with disbelief. "Don't you remember me? Martin… I know it's been seasons, but… Surely- surely you remember me."

_No._ No, but now his head was pounding and his thoughts were swirling, and the mists in the back of his mind curled and thickened and the memories within remained cloaked in darkness. Martin shook his head, straining his eyes, the mouse before him so familiar but so far from his reach.

"Martin, it's me," the mouse tried desperately. "It's Brome!"

"I'm sorry," the name meant nothing to him. "I don't know you."

But he helped the injured stranger to stand, steadying him on weary footpaws.

"You need to come to the abbey," Martin was already supporting Brome into the direction they came, "your wounds are serious- the Loamhedge mice will be sure to help you, and you can explain yourself then."

Link took a step toward them, opening his mouth to greet the newcomer, when Martin found his paws suddenly empty and the burned mouse was upon the Hylian in a fury. Link socked the offending creature hard in the nose, scrambling out from under Brome as he was assaulted with stinging punches and bites. Martin grabbed the beast, tore the fight apart and held Brome struggling weakly in his arms.

"Let me go, Martin!" Brome cried. "That mouse is a killer!" He faltered in the strong paws, "... A killer…. He burned Noonvale to the ground!"

Brome fell in a breathless heap when Martin released his shoulders, but before he could rise again the warrior had a heavy paw on his back. His sword was drawn and bared to Link, deterring any retaliation, but the Hylian mouse just stood in a ready stance, eyes wide from the unexpected attack.

"Calm down, Brome," Martin ordered, lifting the footpaw and allowing the injured male to rise. "Explain yourself civilly. Nobeast here is a killer."

"_He is,"_ Brome spat, blood dripping from his stinging nose, his voice ragged. "He attacked Noonvale not a week ago! Ravaged the village, took maidens and mothers and children as slaves, burnt our homes!"

"Quiet!" Martin shouted over the argument that ensued, but the males ignored him completely.

"His fur was dyed black!" Brome continued, "he had an army! Martin, capture this wolf in sheep's clothing- deliver justice to Noonvale!" He sagged, panting, burning with delirium.

_Black._ A cold pit settled in Link's stomach. He turned his gaze away from the accusing stare, the upset stomach did a flipping dance of nausea, and for a moment Link thought Martin would have to carry them _both_ back to Redwall.

"Black fur, black fur, _that wasn't me," _Link plead, "but I know who it was…."

"Enough!" Martin struggled for control of the situation.

"It was-"

"_No._ Mossflower is in grave danger, Martin!"

"It is as long as you are alive!"

"I'm not-"

"_**I said enough."**_

The marvelous blade of Redwall's Champion shimmered in the sunlight, casting bright flashes about the forest gloom as he swung it between the arguing creatures. They froze, Link's paw partway to his shield as he reacted to the sudden weapon in his face. Martin pressed him aside with the flat of the blade, coming between them with the sword on Link and a strong paw keeping Brome at bay. Martin's steely glower was deadly as the sword in he wielded, and his tone brooked no argument.

"Whatever this misunderstanding is, it can be solved in a civil manner. Peacefully. Within the gatehouse of the abbey where _you,"_ he fixed the pointed look on Brome, "can get medical attention."

Link stepped a hair's breadth into the blade, but Martin stopped him with the single dark look. The trust between them, tentative as it had been, was damaged, and Redwall's Champion motioned him forward. Their return to Redwall was filled with tension; Link lead the way back through the trees- the scene was vaguely familiar to him, though he couldn't quite be sure, with Martin aiding the injured Brome behind him.

His head reeled, the shimmering image of the hateful shadow just behind his eyes. The deep laugh, the crimson eyes that shined with bloodlust… his shadow was _gone_, had just been a puppet finally burned with the death of Ganondorf if not killed in their initial battle. Link shivered, fur prickling, and prayed to his golden goddesses that the demon had not followed him into this strange world.

"I'm not the one who raided your village."

Brome had been lain out on an infirmary bed, tended by the mice of the old Loamhedge order. Wrapped in bandages and poultices, supported by a stack of downy pillows, the Noonvaler still glared at the hated mouse. Link stood, just out of reach, with Martin on the other side and Gonff sitting casually on the next bed, curious but uninformed. The mousemaid that tended Brome's wounds bustled quietly out the door, weary of the tension.

Link knew that his next few words could very nearly mean life or death for him. "I know the one who did," he looked at the Redwallers. "I've fought him. He's dangerous. I thought he had been destroyed long ago, and now see that I was wrong. I must have led him to your lands. I'm sorry."

"You're lying," Brome insisted. "I know it was you… But for the fur you'd be the twin of the savage, and here you are now- masquerading as a goodbeast. Will you shatter their lives too?"

"_I fought him._ I will fight him _again, _a thousand times over if that's what it takes." He looked around for support, found none, and sighed. His mind raced for an explanation. _You'd be the twin. _"We're brothers," he felt sick at the idea, "separated at birth."

"That's nothing you've said before," Gonff gave him a pointed stare.

Link knew his story was full of holes, rubbed his temples with padded fingers when the stares refused to back off. He longed for a past that was unattainable, a peace and a loving life that he didn't deserve, and he longed to be far away from this word and all its man-like beasts. He felt Martin's stare boring deep into the side of his head, felt it more than the hatred of Brome and the indifference of Gonff, felt it weighing him.

"My brother seeks power. With an army behind him, he has it now, and he won't stop till he has it all. I can fight him. I will fight him," Link resigned himself to the task, fearing he still would go untrusted.

"You won't do it alone."

Everybeast turned to Martin. _Warriors share a common soul._ He and Link shared a glance. The copper-furred warrior would extend a paw- trusted what the voice in the back of his mind told him to be true.

"If yore in it, so'm I, matey," Gonff stood resolutely from the cot.

They both looked to Brome, who gazed sadly at his onetime friend.

"You always were a good judge of character, Martin. From the start." His voice was low, his words hesitant. "If you honestly believe this Link is a goodbeast, and your friend so readily backs you up… I must be mistaken."

The tension slowly began to dissipate.

"But what's to be done for Noonvale?"

"We fight," Martin replied smoothly. "We can't allow a warlord power- he needs to be stopped before he ruins any more lives. How large is his horde?"

Brome had never seen the army in its entirety, only the small bands that raided and left his people in fear and disarray, and he told the warrior this. Martin frowned at him.

"A pawful of soldiers attack your village, and all is lost? Where are your fighters? How many are there?"

When Martin grunted in agreement to Gonff's incredulous question, Brome spread his paws in exasperation. He wished he could tell them that they were taken by surprise, that the attack had happened so fast that they were left reeling in the wake of the warlord, but grudgingly ground out the same words his father had been preaching for his entire life.

"We're creatures of peace, Martin! What few fighters remained after… What few fighters we have are either long in season or have long hung up their arms. Noonvale doesn't know war. You know this, warrior."

Martin was tired of being told of things he 'knew', and growled at the bedridden mouse. "I know nothing of your community or its ways, Brome. Gonff," the mousethief, having maintained an uncharacteristic silence, was awaiting orders. "Find Skip and Lady Amber, and send them here with Bella and Germaine."

Gonff ducked out of the room, taking one last glance at Brome. He shook his head going down the corridor, knowing many things that perhaps he shouldn't.


	6. Prepare for War

**_A/N: Alright, everyone! This is the start of entirely new content. Huzzah! Unfortunately, this chapter largely serves as a filler, though there are some important developments if you look close enough. Remember to feed the author! I'll accept whatever you can throw at me, good, bad or ugly. If it can help me as a writer, I definitely need to hear it. I know that two of my biggest faults are struggling to forward a plot, and struggling with juggling a multitude of characters in a scene or conversation. These are hard subjects for me, but I'm doing my best to get better. A little side note, Young Dinny and Trimp, though amazing characters, will likely not make it into this story (if anyone is missing them). It's a bro mission with Martin and the other mousey boys. _**

**_Allow me to shut up so you can get on with the story, and remember to review!_**

* * *

_Chapter Six: Prepare for War_

Sun was setting over Redwall Abbey, casting the walls in ruby flames as the day drew to a slow close. Martin paced the walltop. The Skipper of Otters and Lady Amber the Squirrelqueen were due to arrive within the hour with all of their forces. Little had been said to the other abbeydwellers, and word of an army's creation was known only to those immediately involved. The mouse warrior took this pause in the day's occupations as a moment to clear his mind, thinking of nothing but the sky dressed in its royal robe of pink and gold and plum, and the sweet, saucy scent of summer roses on the breeze. Martin rubbed a paw absently against his chest, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the gardens and its tender young flowers.

He was alone.

Before he knew, he was sitting among them, caressing tender buds and pricking his fingers on their thorns. His head throbbed, and he shook it.

_Must be allergic._

It was hard to breathe around them, something in his heart pulling and tugging, some memory screaming at him.

"You really don't remember, do you?" Brome had been grudgingly released from the infirmary, though scolded and ordered to return every few hours for a checkup. He leaned heavily on a crutch, sat beside Martin with a grimace.

Martin didn't reply, plucked a young crimson bud and cradled it gently in his paws.

"I thought you were keeping your oath- just pretending not to know me," Brome continued, eyeing the picked flower mournfully.

"In my final battle with Tsarmina," Brome had been filled in on Mossflower's revolution, was little surprised to hear of his old friend's leadership and courage in the face of a tyrant. "I lost a lot of my memory. I can _feel _it. It's there. But I don't remember."

The warrior's stormy eyes settled on him then, offered the rose to him. Brome took it gently.

"It's a long story," Brome conceded. "A long and bittersweet one."

The healer was unsure whether to reveal it all to the warrior. He had seen him laughing earlier in the day, uninhibited by grief. He had seen him cultivating new friendships, new relationships. Perhaps it was easier to not remember.

"I remember… The smell of roses, and hazel eyes," Martin's voice was no more than a whisper, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

Brome choked, bit his lip.

"I don't want you to tell me everything."

A moment of silence. The sun had disappeared, the light fading in brilliant purple hues.

"Not yet."

The emotional moment was gone, the mouse standing and helping the wounded to his footpaws. The hour for action was drawing near, the murmur of an army on the wind, and Link, clad in his tunic and peculiar cap with the broadsword and shield thrown over his shoulder appeared in the gardens before them.

The eastern wallgate opened silently, the forest dark beyond the portal, and a score of otters slipped through armed with javelins, spears and slings. They joined the Squirrelqueen's forces, similarly armed, near the northern gate, and stood with grim expressions as they eyed Mossflower's hero.

"Beasts of Mossflower," Martin's voice was low when he addressed them, loathe to disturb the abbeydwellers as they suppered within Great Hall or slumbered in the dormitories, but it carried through the silent summer night with ease, "thank you. Seasons ago, too few as of yet for the wounds of war to heal, we joined forces just as we do tonight. Our cause now is the same as it was then. To the north a vermin army rages, razing villages and terrorizing the innocent. Tomorrow, we leave our homes to put an end to this reign of terror."

There wasn't an audible applause, only the ripple of pride and pleased faces from one fighter to the next, a wave of determination that lit each beast's eyes. Gonff, having led the otters up from River Moss, stepped to the front of the lines.

"There's supper in the kitchens and beds in the dormitories," the mousethief grinned. "Don't scare anybeast with those weapons now."

They filed away in twos and threes, murmuring amongst themselves, each heart blazing. When at last only Gonff and Lady Amber remained of each party, Martin dismissed Brome and Link both to the infirmary for their checkups.

"We've got twoscore fighters here in the abbey, Martin, with the rest of Skip and Amber's forces to join us tomorrow. Skip is out now recruitin' who he can from some other holts hof Mossflower," Gonff reported.

"Good. Bella and Germaine are waiting in the gatehouse for us," Martin replied, and turned sharply on his back footpaw.

"Are you alright, mate?" Gonff's voice was low, the Squirrelqueen keeping a few paces behind them. "You 'aven't been yourself."

Martin smiled grimly without looking at his friend. "Never better, matey."

This wasn't the Abbess's first war council, though they were a thing she had wished to avoid for the rest of her seasons. Germaine accepted that the fates would not be so kind to her; she sat calmly, paws folded in her habit sleeves and footpaws warm against the evening chill under a thick woolen blanket. She watched the proceedings through her crystal spectacles, eyes sharp despite her age, and strained to catch every word.

"Abbess?" Her mind had wandered. She traced her thoughts back, mulled over the last things she had heard, reached out a timeworn paw, wet her throat with cool dandelion water.

"It grieves me that our hard won peace has come to an end," she finally declared with a slow nod. "I should have known our warrior was destined for more," she smiled as Martin bowed his head low. There was a tug at her heart, and the smile pulled away. "This will not be a simple war."

"No war is a simple one," Bella agreed from her own chair.

"Aye, but seein' a couple o' swashbuckling rogues like us," Gonff jabbed his friend in the side with an elbow, "this mouse'll just tuck tail'n run. We're not new to the game."

"Swashbuckling, ha! You couldn't frighten a flea, Mousethief," scoffed Lady Amber with a grin.

Germaine stood on weary footpaws, casting her blanket aside, and approached a bookshelf tucked against the far wall. She returned with a relatively new journal, loose leaves sticking out at all angles.

"In the days before the sickness that took Loamhedge from us, the abbot of another order sent letters warning us of a black mouse leading a small band of vermin. We never had to worry- they were far to the north of us. But it seems he has grown in power."

On the table she placed the book, opening it and passing around letters, illustrations, all in various conditions. Gonff held one in his paws that had been touched by flame, holes burned through it and the page stained around the edges. The old abbess was sad as she took the letter from him.

"We had underestimated the mouse. _So many_ innocent beasts passed through our infirmary- some never to step out. But he never raided close enough to harm us directly."

Martin flipped through the journal, full of illustrations, and came upon one of the warlord himself. Link stared at him from the page; the same features, the same build, a dark sword and shield. He traced the pattern emblazoned on the shield, a crest nearly the same as on Link's own but for the inverted triangular glyph.

"I can see why Brome thought he was the same beast," Gonff marveled, taking the book for himself. "Link wasn't lying…"

"They're twins."

Lady Amber stood and crossed her paws. "How do we know this family feud won't collapse, and this Link won't turn on us for his brother's sake?"

The sentiment traveled the room, leaving uneasy hearts and gritting teeth in its wake.

"Will you be able to trust him on a long campaign?"

All eyes were on Martin and Gonff at the head of the table.

"We have to," Martin sighed. "He's the only one that knows anything about the tyrant."

The truth was almost as unsettling as the question that led to its birth.

"You'll need to be provisioned before you go: I've let the cooks know that they need to be ready to feed an army," Bella stood, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "There's no use wondering about a beast's loyalty: his colors will show soon enough. But if this assault is to be effective, you must all be well supplied."

Gonff chuckled. "Good old Bella, lookin' out for us like a mother General."

Martin smiled at the old badger, "knowing the cooks, we'll have enough provisions to survive a ten season famine while we're gone." The laughing tone vanished, and he was commander in chief again as he reviewed their strategy. "We leave tomorrow afternoon, then. Lady Amber, half the squirrels you brought tonight will remain to defend the abbey along with the same number Skipper's otters. The rest will join us on the road. Hopefully it will be enough…"

"We'll aid any villages along the way," Gonff continued. "And traipse right up to this naughty mouse an' ask him to please stop killin' everybeast in his path."

With a parting chuckle the elders and the Squirrelqueen stood, dismissed, and wished goodnight to the mice.

"And we hope Noonvale is still standing," Martin continued after the gatehouse door had shut.

"Of course it'll be," Gonff didn't sound so sure, but plastered a roguish grin across his handsome features. "They'll be servin' tea and scones when we march in, just you wait."

Martin frowned, gathered up the loose leaflets and tucked them gently back into the forgotten journal before returning it to the bookshelf. Gonff watched him, worry in his eyes. The warriormouse was never quite himself this time of the summer. He'd known all along that Martin had his fair share of secrets before his arrival in Mossflower, knew that something in a long forgotten summer had made his friend who he was. But the arrival of Brome earlier in the day served to sharpen the thorn in Martin's side.

"And then you can find what you've been looking for," he murmured to Martin's back, and watched the muscles in his shoulders stiffen.

"Maybe," came the whispered reply, and Martin returned and flopped in a chair. His expression was hesitant, and not a little bit guilty. "Gonff…." he struggled to find the words. "I want you to stay in Redwall."

There was a tense moment where Martin tried to ignore the hurt that briefly flashed across his friend's face before it turned to solid indignation.

"No. No, mate, you've tried it before," Gonff glared steadily at the warrior. "You've tried it before and do you remember what I told you? I told you you're not takin' a bloomin' step without me. I'm not goin' to let my best mate tramp off ta war without his shield arm." The mousethief crossed struck a defiant pose.

A slow, damning smile lightened Martin's face. They both knew the warrior was loathe to venture off without him, and they both knew that when trouble called, The Prince of Mousethieves would never be far behind.

The infirmary was uncomfortably hot in the summer night, the air still, and the room lit by candles that smothered the pair within.

"Link?"

It was the first he'd heard of a tone anything less than hatred from the singed creature, and Link spared him a glance in answer.

"Do you think you could open that window, please?"

Brome could hardly move for the tight wrappings that bound soothing poultices to his worst burns, and shifted uncomfortably in the swampy heat. Link complied without comment, standing in the window for a moment to enjoy the cool breeze that drifted in.

"A few of the abbey sisters volunteered to accompany us to Noonvale."

Brome was a sociable mouse, unnerved at the silence he was given.

"As healers?"

A wave of relief washed over him when Link turned back, his face as friendly as the late hour and his own exhaustion could allow. Brome nodded.

"We'll need them."

It was a sad fact, but true. The awkward silence returned. Link stretched his sore muscles, swaying slightly on his footpaws, and casting a longing glance to the sword and shield hung peacefully on the far wall. He hadn't been this sore in years, drained by shock and dehydration. He eyed the water at his bedside, remembering the nursemaid's strict orders to drink _all_ of it before he even thought of retiring for the night.

"I'm sorry for what… my brother… has done to your home," his voice was tense, and he drained the glass in a single gulp, grimacing at the herbs he hadn't been told were in it.

Brome shivered, the smell of smoke and blood and the screams of the stricken echoing in his mind. The charred, half standing structures that were once the homes of his friends would be long in repairing. The village itself would be long in healing. He knew not the fate of his friends, of his mother and father.

"He… he's taken everything. Children and their mothers, friends… We couldn't do anything."

Another lull, full of broken memories.

"I'll stop him."

It was a promise, and the end of all conversation as Link sat heavily down on his cot and glared hard at his footpaws. _How did __**he **__get here? _The triforce on his paw tingled subtly, and he clenched it in anger. He would put an end to the shadow, banish it to the darkness it belonged to. Like he thought he had done years before.

* * *

Link _loved _the cold. His army marched deep into the hostile northlands, where mountains painted pictures of solitude and the world had yet to be claimed by the onset of summer. Hordebeasts shivered woefully in their tattered rags and vermin-infested blankets, too cold to entertain thoughts of mutiny. Their leader was a ghost among them, blacker far than the darkest forest.

The bite of a north wind brought stinging, freezing spits of rain. Fires sizzled, smoked in the night. Slaves, huddled feebly against the weather wailed mournfully. Link could _taste _their grief, lingered for a moment near them as their abject despair filled him with a sick glee. The cold wind blew again, an icy lover that kissed his mouth and caressed him.

The cold was his first memory.

The cold was the first thing, that on waking from deathlike slumber, had greeted him.

The cold was the first thing that Dark Link had ever _felt_ besides pain and woe and hatred.

_No longer a shadow,_ he had almost cried for joy when the first tender kisses of cold brought him to life. That was another new thing: joy. But he much preferred taking it from others.

Link glided amongst the prisoners, relishing their fear, until his eyes fell on the mouse mother. She had long since run out of tears, only stared up at him in mute despair, shivering and clutching with numb arms the mouselet she hadn't let go of once since her imprisonment. She didn't blink at him when he knelt near her, tore her shackles away, hardly whimpered when her half frozen arm was snatched in a vice and she was dragged, babe and all through the masses of sick prisoners. Her breath came in ragged airy crystals, her fear feeding her master's might.

He felt the strength in his muscles, the power in his bones, and above all the cold's sweet, deadly blessing upon him. His teeth glimmered in the light of the moon, his breath frosty, and his heart- yes, _heart,_ he had a heart!- light as his chuckle was dark.

_Dark Link loved the cold._


	7. To the North

_**A/N: Checking in again, guys! If you saw the update and just jumped to the end of the story without heeding my warnings, you'd better go back and reread some to get a grip on this new format. Like the last chapter, this is unfortunately a lot of filler with a few sprinkled seeds to be reaped later. Please review, but more importantly, enjoy!**_

* * *

_Chapter Seven: To the North_

The innermost circle of the vermin camp was naturally the warmest, blocked as it was by tents, and wagons loaded with supplies, and the bodies of more unfortunate beasts. As prime real estate, these regions were highly sought after, and occupied only by the strongest, the boldest, and the most feared of the entire horde. Sitting in the absolute center of the camp, on a pile of skins and woven blankets was Kadik the fox, the Dark Lord's second in command. His broadheaded axe lay across his lap, the tails of lesser beasts hanging from its tip, and the massive fox was hunched over it glaring venomously at an older beast.

"Enough of your mutterings, Arif," scolded the nasty beast.

Arif had _earned_ his place in the middle of camp. The gnarled old fox was a fearsome sight, his bones twisted with age and his tattooed hide hanging off him like so many scarred rags. One ear drooped under the weight of half a dozen gold and silver hoops, and the other had been ripped out by the roots, the base tattooed in swirls of orange and blue. He tossed a velvet pouch idly, looking beyond the younger canine to a place only he could see.

"We should never have left our old lands, child," Arif's voice was reedy and rasping, his words catching on a decorative bone that ran through the tip of his tongue. "Bad fortune awaits us in all directions."

"Bad fortune awaits you, seer," Kadik sneered, rising to his footpaws. He had no use for an old fool's rambling, had duties to attend to, and a warm bed waiting for him.

"You have led us to ruin!" cried the seer, shooting up and throwing his bag of stones savagely. It caught Kadik on the nose, drawing blood, and the savage fighter twitched his axe menacingly.

"If you want to live to see your next sunrise, you'll sit down and cast your little stones and keep your thoughts to yourself. We are rich. We are strong. We are well fed and basking in glory, _and you would speak against the one who led us_. Another treacherous word from you, Arif, and you will be drowning in your own blood."

Kadik kicked the velvet pouch as he left the old fox's presence, his ruff bristling in anger. Several hordebeasts watched him retreat, had watched the entire affair with murmurs of unease and quiet little rituals. It was bad luck to threaten a seer.

"Wot were you sayin' about misfortune?" a rat crept up to the brooding fox, hugging low to the ground to avoid offense.

"The black mouse leads us to our death."

A small crowd gathered round Arif as he pinned back his good ear, rolled his eyes, and chanted softly under his breath. The sharp eyes opened, glared savagely around at the assembled vermin. They shrank away, trembling, murmuring prayers to their harsh war gods, and Arif slid into his tent.

"Death is holding out his paw… Death on the wind…" the reedy voice echoed plaintively in the calm quiet of the shelter.

He saw the black and golden mice locked in an ancient ring, a dance as old as time itself.

The rat, _a brave little bastard,_ tucked his head into the tent.

"I want to know, old one. What's to be done?"

But Arif only shook his head, tossing the velvet pouch on a pile of skins and straw, murmuring through a shivering jaw.

"_Redwall…. Redwall…"_

* * *

"Redwaaaaallll!"

The ringing cries of the woodlanders bounded through the trees and across the young path. The walltops were alive with cheering creatures as the bold army marched steadily away from the glowing sandstone fortress. Martin stood at the head, laughing aloud as Gonff mock weeped, waving a silken kerchief and singing a plaintive farewell to his lovely Columbine. Laughing along was Link, in the highest spirits any beast had witnessed out of him, and behind the trio stretched the crew of otters, the squirrel brigades, and the score or so Redwall healers that accompanied them.

The army marched well through the day, preceded by the low murmur of conversation and the hum of a hundred living beasts. Birds twittered at them from the high treetops, gossiping in their own tongue and flitting from branch to branch after the quiet horde that wove its way through the forest. A fat little robin swooped down from an elm, lighting on Martin's shoulder.

"Er, ahem, might I ask what your army here is doing?" asked the bird after much careful preening.

"Well, what does it look like, fuzzy feathers?" returned Gonff with a grin, "we're out for a summer lark!"

"We're going north, Chibb," Martin's reply was far more polite than that of the Prince of Thieves, and he cut the bird a sidelong glance.

"Well I can see that," scoffed the robin, "what I want to know is _why_."

They passed a little cottage, and a family of rabbits tumbled out to watch in awe as the army passed. Two little ones dashed about, skirting between the lines, asking and telling and pushing and prodding at the soldiers curiously while their parents called nervously from the doorway.

"That's why, Chibb," Martin's tone was grim despite the smile that tugged at his lips as one of the young creatures ran headlong into him. He helped the lass up, winking roguishly at her, and sent her on her way with a laugh. "So beasts can be free to live as they choose and raise their families in peace."

Chibb ruffled his feathers, muttering something along the lines of 'uncivilized ruffians' as the brother and sister tumbled into one another.

"And here I thought Mossflower was _already_ free," the little robin cleared his throat. "Erherm, did you not rid Mossflower of vermin?"

"Mossflower ain't the only part o' the world, Chibb," Gonff grinned. "The world is full o' beasts under the claw of tyrants, mate."

"And I suppose you all are out to liberate the whole of the green Earth?"

"Just a small part of it, Chibb," Martin corrected. After a moment's thought he gave the bird an interested look. "We might use your help, Chibb, if you care to lend a wing."

The gluttonous songbird ruffled his feathers, staring scornfully down at Martin's haversack.

"Ack, arumph," he cleared his throat for what seemed to be half a season, fluttering and puffing and preening, "well there _is _a certain glory to it…. But then there is _also_ the matter of payment."

"Stay near, bucko, and by the end of the season you'll be _rollin'_ in chestnuts an' 'azelnuts, an' whatever your flutterin' little 'eart desires," Gonff crooned, taking a hopskip over a fallen branch.

Satisfied with the Mousethief's promise, Chibb flitted away, calling his agreements over his beating wings as he ascended into the canopy of broadleafed trees. The army traveled on through the day, joined at fords and stream crossings by companies of otters and shrews while small groups of squirrels dropped lightly from the stately elms and beeches to join their kin. Some hours after noon, when the sun hung listlessly between the horizon and the sky's highest point, Martin called the forces to a halt. The soldiers, weary under the weight of their supplies, fell gratefully away into smaller groups while stragglers, like the company of healers so unused to travel caught up.

In the rear of the army, just within the edges of the wood and detached from the main contingent in a broad clearing, Brome tossed his crutches down and slid gingerly to sit on the root of an ancient oak tree. A young male mouse whose name he couldn't remember came while he caught his breath and changed his bandages, pressed a canteen of medicated water into the wounded mouse's paws, and was gone to enjoy his supper. Brome gulped the water gratefully, rested his pounding head on the oak. Muffled pawsteps approached him, and there was the Mousethief, crouching near him and sharing a flagon of pale cider.

"How're you holdin' up, matey?" Gonff asked.

"Well enough, considering," Brome smiled ruefully, content despite the ache that spread across his body. The smile stiffened when he saw Gonff's intense scrutiny, the almost wary glimmer in the green eyes. "Is something wrong?"

The glimmer faded quickly, leaving Brome wondering if it had even lit the mischievous Mousethief's gaze, and Gonff took an easy swig of the cider. "Nothin' at all mate. Just about to do some scoutin'. Gen'ral's orders, y'know," he winked. "Just had a quick question for you before I left…"

"Which is?" So he hadn't imagined the wary glare.

"Where do you know Martin from?"

Gonff leaned in close, elbow propped upon a knee and his claws trailing the dirt, feigning disinterest. It was Brome's turn to be wary, unwilling to reveal a part of his old friend's life that even the mouse himself couldn't remember.

"We were friends once. A lot happened between us," Brome averted his eyes, picking at the bark of the tree.

"Does he know anybeast from Noonvale?"

Broke sighed. "He used to."

Gonff didn't get the answer he was hoping for, knew that pressing further would push his luck, and knew that he wasn't free to sit and mill.

"Thanks mate, all I needed t'know," he grinned despite his disappointment, wished Brome good health, and vanished like a wraith into the trees.

He worked his way along the eastern vestiges of the army, silent and agile despite his gut. A narrow road stretched along to the north, folding subtly through the shrubs. Gonff trailed alongside it for several long moments, hearing nothing more than the faint murmur of the fighters on the breeze and the sonnets of songbirds far overhead. The trail was a common road, paved by the footpaws of countless beasts over countless seasons, but had only recently been discovered anew after the Great Mossflower War. Gonff struggled to remember the name of the settlement, or if it ever had a name- it never having consisted of more than four or five woodland families at a time. Preoccupied as he was with his thoughts, with his ears trained to the slightest sound and his gaze just above eye level, the Mousethief bit back a yelp when a noose tightened about his footpaw and he lurched upwards, cracking his head on the ground as he did.


End file.
